From today
My grandfather passed away in his sleep early Wednesday morning. Today was the funeral.
Here is what I said:
As I’m sure all of you know, for most of his life my grandpa always had a joke to tell. It seems only appropriate to tell one of his oldie-but-goodies now.
Joe Klein and Rabbi Cohen were waiting at heaven’s gate. An angel came to take Joe in and handed him a gorgeous embroidered robe and a golden staff. A few minutes later, the angel came for Rabbi Cohen, and handed him a plain linen robe and a wooden staff.
The rabbi asked, “Angel, I don’t mean to be petty, but what gives? I worked for the spiritual growth of my congregants for forty years. Why did I get such simple things compared to Joe, a cab driver who barely made it to synagogue twice a year?
The angel answered: “Well, here in heaven we work on results. During your sermons, most of the congregants were, if not asleep altogether, at least zoned out. Every single time Joe drove his cab, though, he inspired people to pray.”
While I can’t imagine Grandpa’s behavior inspiring that effect exactly, hopefully, by virtue of him having worked for the IRS, the principle will hold….
…..
My grandfather was a sweet man who made the world a better place. I wasn’t quite sure what words would do him justice. But he had a lot of stories that he shared with us about his life before I knew him, and telling some of them, plus what I learned about how he lived his life, seems like a good starting point.
…..
During our school breaks, [my sister] and I would often visit him and Grandma for several days at a time. I remember him keeping busy, and in hindsight probably wearing himself out, trying to make sure we had a good time by taking us to the pool, the public library, and to dinner at Hot Shoppe’s were we met some of his friends. Over the years I think we went through every Shirley Temple and Three Stooges video at the rental store. As we got older, we would sometimes join him for a game of checkers or Scrabble. When he came up with some obscure vocabulary word to make use of a truly unlucky set of letters, it served as a reminder that he was really quite a bright guy. You might never know it unless you played Scrabble with him, but he really had a very impressive vocabulary. His unassuming demeanor, however, served as a lesson that intelligence doesn’t have to be shown off.
…..
While I can’t speak to what he was like in his younger days, I remember Grandpa for being one of those too-rare people who sets an example of being unafraid to admit one’s faults. He regularly told a story about his navigation skills. As a young man working for Veterans' Affairs he and his co-workers frequently went on road trips. This was before the interstate highway system, so the navigator truly had his job cut out for him. The group gave the responsibility to my grandfather, and they never got lost once. At every intersection, he’d say which way to go and they’d do the exact opposite.
…..
My grandfather was a World War Two veteran. For the earlier portion of his service he worked as an MP. At one point towards the end of the war the army accidentally sent a group of MPs into an area that still had enemy troops, and most of the group was killed. Grandpa told us that if he had been one space further ahead during assignments, he would have been part of that. Whether because of that experience or just because of who he was, though, I always felt like he strove to make the most of the moment he was in at any given point in time. His ability to find something positive in nearly any experience is clear from his other war stories.
As a MP he helped to guard POWs. He didn’t have as many stories about the German POWs, but had a sense of humor about the Italians. The town in upstate New York they were in had a lot of Italian-American women whose husbands, brothers, sons, etc. were off at war themselves. During the prisoners’ outside exercise period, some of them were paying a lot more attention to the women just outside of the fence than they were to the soccer ball. My grandpa gave the impression that in breaking up the blossoming romances he sometimes felt more like a chaperon at a high school dance than he did an MP.
Grandpa shared that the women in the town felt badly for the poor young prisoners away from their mothers’ Italian cooking, and worked together to make them some home-cooked meals. Under the Geneva Convention, however, the same food must be offered to both prisoners and guards. Somehow, I doubt the signatories of that convention intended the guards to benefit so much from the agreement. Needless to say, my grandfather put on some weight during his service.
…..
He talked appreciatively of his mother law, with whom he and my grandmother stayed for several months after he returned from the army. “She never said anything about my weight or made me self-conscious,” he recalled, “She just started every meal with these huge, healthy, delicious salads.” Just as he learned a trait for which he could strive by watching his mother-in-law, by telling us the story he taught me to appreciate, and try to emulate, positive qualities in others.
…..
Once he retired, however, he took another tack to stay healthy. He went for long walks every day. Because he didn’t particularly like to be outside (apparently he was traumatized by all the bugs that bit him at the park near his house as a young boy), he would walk the halls of his apartment building. Though it wasn’t his intention starting out, in the process he got to know many of his neighbors better. While I have inherited his proclivity for walking when possible, I admire the friendliness that enabled him to befriend what otherwise would have been the strangers upstairs.
Wherever he went, he went out of his way to acknowledge people as people. Even in the hospital earlier this month, the nurses were impressed that he, at 95-years-old, not just remembered them but actually remembered their names.
…..
Grandpa, simply put, was a good person. The way he lived his life truly did make the lives of those around him better, and I feel lucky to have had the chance to know him for as long as I did. Part of me still doesn’t really believe that he’s gone. But I know that his stories - both those he told and those I saw him live - have had a permanent impact.
Here is what I said:
As I’m sure all of you know, for most of his life my grandpa always had a joke to tell. It seems only appropriate to tell one of his oldie-but-goodies now.
Joe Klein and Rabbi Cohen were waiting at heaven’s gate. An angel came to take Joe in and handed him a gorgeous embroidered robe and a golden staff. A few minutes later, the angel came for Rabbi Cohen, and handed him a plain linen robe and a wooden staff.
The rabbi asked, “Angel, I don’t mean to be petty, but what gives? I worked for the spiritual growth of my congregants for forty years. Why did I get such simple things compared to Joe, a cab driver who barely made it to synagogue twice a year?
The angel answered: “Well, here in heaven we work on results. During your sermons, most of the congregants were, if not asleep altogether, at least zoned out. Every single time Joe drove his cab, though, he inspired people to pray.”
While I can’t imagine Grandpa’s behavior inspiring that effect exactly, hopefully, by virtue of him having worked for the IRS, the principle will hold….
…..
My grandfather was a sweet man who made the world a better place. I wasn’t quite sure what words would do him justice. But he had a lot of stories that he shared with us about his life before I knew him, and telling some of them, plus what I learned about how he lived his life, seems like a good starting point.
…..
During our school breaks, [my sister] and I would often visit him and Grandma for several days at a time. I remember him keeping busy, and in hindsight probably wearing himself out, trying to make sure we had a good time by taking us to the pool, the public library, and to dinner at Hot Shoppe’s were we met some of his friends. Over the years I think we went through every Shirley Temple and Three Stooges video at the rental store. As we got older, we would sometimes join him for a game of checkers or Scrabble. When he came up with some obscure vocabulary word to make use of a truly unlucky set of letters, it served as a reminder that he was really quite a bright guy. You might never know it unless you played Scrabble with him, but he really had a very impressive vocabulary. His unassuming demeanor, however, served as a lesson that intelligence doesn’t have to be shown off.
…..
While I can’t speak to what he was like in his younger days, I remember Grandpa for being one of those too-rare people who sets an example of being unafraid to admit one’s faults. He regularly told a story about his navigation skills. As a young man working for Veterans' Affairs he and his co-workers frequently went on road trips. This was before the interstate highway system, so the navigator truly had his job cut out for him. The group gave the responsibility to my grandfather, and they never got lost once. At every intersection, he’d say which way to go and they’d do the exact opposite.
…..
My grandfather was a World War Two veteran. For the earlier portion of his service he worked as an MP. At one point towards the end of the war the army accidentally sent a group of MPs into an area that still had enemy troops, and most of the group was killed. Grandpa told us that if he had been one space further ahead during assignments, he would have been part of that. Whether because of that experience or just because of who he was, though, I always felt like he strove to make the most of the moment he was in at any given point in time. His ability to find something positive in nearly any experience is clear from his other war stories.
As a MP he helped to guard POWs. He didn’t have as many stories about the German POWs, but had a sense of humor about the Italians. The town in upstate New York they were in had a lot of Italian-American women whose husbands, brothers, sons, etc. were off at war themselves. During the prisoners’ outside exercise period, some of them were paying a lot more attention to the women just outside of the fence than they were to the soccer ball. My grandpa gave the impression that in breaking up the blossoming romances he sometimes felt more like a chaperon at a high school dance than he did an MP.
Grandpa shared that the women in the town felt badly for the poor young prisoners away from their mothers’ Italian cooking, and worked together to make them some home-cooked meals. Under the Geneva Convention, however, the same food must be offered to both prisoners and guards. Somehow, I doubt the signatories of that convention intended the guards to benefit so much from the agreement. Needless to say, my grandfather put on some weight during his service.
…..
He talked appreciatively of his mother law, with whom he and my grandmother stayed for several months after he returned from the army. “She never said anything about my weight or made me self-conscious,” he recalled, “She just started every meal with these huge, healthy, delicious salads.” Just as he learned a trait for which he could strive by watching his mother-in-law, by telling us the story he taught me to appreciate, and try to emulate, positive qualities in others.
…..
Once he retired, however, he took another tack to stay healthy. He went for long walks every day. Because he didn’t particularly like to be outside (apparently he was traumatized by all the bugs that bit him at the park near his house as a young boy), he would walk the halls of his apartment building. Though it wasn’t his intention starting out, in the process he got to know many of his neighbors better. While I have inherited his proclivity for walking when possible, I admire the friendliness that enabled him to befriend what otherwise would have been the strangers upstairs.
Wherever he went, he went out of his way to acknowledge people as people. Even in the hospital earlier this month, the nurses were impressed that he, at 95-years-old, not just remembered them but actually remembered their names.
…..
Grandpa, simply put, was a good person. The way he lived his life truly did make the lives of those around him better, and I feel lucky to have had the chance to know him for as long as I did. Part of me still doesn’t really believe that he’s gone. But I know that his stories - both those he told and those I saw him live - have had a permanent impact.